A Point to Be Made
by RealityIsMyKryptonite
Summary: Jason guessed that this wasn't Dick's first time in a situation like this, trying to save people who desired nothing more than to be saved only from themselves. But this time was different. Sure, Jason needed saving. He just didn't want it. Rated M for language and suicidal theme. A smidge of JayDick. One-shot.


**Well, hello there. I have written many fanfictions, but this, my friends, is the very first one that I've ever published. So I hope that you enjoy, and it would be ever so kind of you to leave me a review on your thoughts. Thank you!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything but the story. Everything else belongs to DC.**

**A Point to Be Made**

The toes of his boots jutted out over the edge of the roof as he looked down. This was it. He had finally reached his breaking point. Finally decided that no afterlife could possibly be worse than the hell that he was experiencing at this very moment – scratch that – _had _been experiencing his entire life.

It's always been this way. For as long as he could remember, nothing had ever been genuinely right for him. It was almost as if some greater force decided that no matter how much good he did, things would always end badly. Every right seemed to end in an unanticipated wrong. God, what had he done to deserve this?

He'd been a good little soldier, fighting crime and saving lives under the wing of the Bat, always doing what he was told, not because he was told to do it but because he knew that it was the right thing to do. People had once looked up to him, idolized him, wanted to_ be_ him. He had become a role model, a legend.

_ A hero._

He became lightheaded at the thought, trying his best to remain balanced as he inched a little bit closer to his unforeseen demise, his arms slightly outstretched and knees somewhat bent. Closing his eyes, he took a few shaky breaths before running his fingers through his disheveled, raven hair. He was sweating to no end, anxiety getting the best of him in his time of insufferable hurt. He'd never been good at calming himself down, instead doing the exact opposite by letting his mind wander deeper into the crevices of the core of his mental struggles.

How had he even ended up here? All was well, friends were friends. Until…he died, didn't he? Right. That's right. He was murdered. By a psychopath. Only the most important brushstroke in the painting. He thought about that all too much. The pain, the laughing, the blood, and that goddamned crowbar. They'd always been one of the main subjects of his nightmares, right next to clawing his way out of a coffin through six feet of dirt. What the hell ever happened down there anyway? He'd never know. Never _understand_.

However, he did manage to make it back to Gotham safely – if _safely_ is an appropriate word – only to find that the damn clown was still kicking and he'd been replaced by an adolescent Sherlock Holmes. Home sweet home.

So really, who could blame him? Who could blame him for creating a new identity? Who could blame him for fighting fire with fire to dispose of the trash that the Bat couldn't? Who could blame him for realizing that fear isn't evident in all who play the game, and that the only way to be a better Batman than Batman himself was to eliminate, not penalize? Who could blame him for going a little crazy? The most vile, sick, twisted human being in the world had beat him to a bloody pulp and left him for the timer, and he had come all the way back from the _dead_ to discover that not only had the lunatic killed thousands more, but Batman didn't seem to care. He had a new partner. A new protégé.

A new _son_.

He could go on and on, and he had, but what it all really boiled down to was that in the most unpretentious way, where he was now was in no manner directly his fault. People had led him here. He hadn't even known that it was possible for the words and actions of others to have such a profound impact on his fate. He really did hate the concept of _fate_, but since there seemed to be no other explanation for anything, he'd decided that maybe it wasn't complete and utter bullshit after all. He'd take what he could get.

He opened his eyes and scanned the streets below for any last signs of hope, anything that might give him the smallest amount of strength to step back. To _stop_. And as he remembered that he was in Gotham and it was foolish to think that anything like that could come from this godforsaken place, he pulled out a cigarette and took it in between his teeth, lighting it with trembling hands. Just one last smoke.

_One._

_Last._

_Smoke._

Or his name wasn't-

"Jason?"

Shit. His body tensed. He hadn't planned on being interrupted. Especially, from the sound of it, by none other than the Golden Boy himself. How on earth did he find him here?

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply to keep himself from beating the hell out of his brother. "Dick. If you know what's best for you, leave. Now."

"Jason?...Jay, what's going on? What're you-" He froze. Jason could feel Dick's eyes widening in his direction, staring up and down the back of his body. He couldn't move. There was no way in hell he was going to turn around and face the bastard's pitiful look because goddammit, as much as he hated to admit it, he knew that one look at Dick's expression would turn his insides to mush.

His anxiety turned to rage as he tried to keep himself on track, suddenly becoming impatient with how long that he figured this was going to end up taking. "Dick. Leave me the hell alone." Jason's breathing was deep as he spoke, creating slight pauses between every two or three words. "Don't even think about trying to stop me. Don't even…"He sighed, his voice catching in his throat, unable to finish the sentence.

"Jay?..."

God, why did it have to be him? Anyone but _him_. Bruce would understand Jason. Damian would encourage him to do it. Hell, even Tim would empathize. But Dick? Dick would comfort. He would try to tell him that everything was going to be _okay_ and that he was there for Jason whenever he needed someone and that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem and all of that _crap_. Nothing was going to be _okay_. Jason didn't _want_ Dick. And his problems weren't _temporary_; they'd existed for practically his entire life.

He flicked his cigarette down towards the street below, watching as it fell out of eyesight. He wondered what poor bastard's head it'd land on top of. He wondered what poor bastard's head _he'd _land on top of. A corner of his lip curled up slightly at the thought. God, he really had lost his mind.

"Jay?..." He repeated. "Jason?..._Talk_ to me. _Please._ I want to help."

"_Help_?" Jason snarled. "And how would you suppose you'd do that? Hold my hand? Give me a hug? Tell me that everything's going to be _okay_? Get real, Grayson. There's nothing-"

"But everything _isn't_ going to be okay," Dick interrupted.

Jason scrunched his eyebrows. There was a long silence before curiosity finally got the best of him. "_What_?"

Dick was slowly walking towards him, the sound of his boots evident against the rooftop. That was an intentional move. Why Dick wanted Jason to know he was approaching him, he had no clue, but he did know that he could've come closer without a sound if he'd wanted to. Hell, he could've climbed onto Jason's shoulders without him noticing it until he got there. The smartass was planning something.

"You're wrong, Jay. Everything _isn't_ going to be okay. I would never tell you that." He sounded so calm and collected, as if preventing people from jumping off of rooftops was his only purpose in life. Jason guessed that this wasn't Dick's first time in a situation like this, trying to save people who desired nothing more than to be saved only from themselves. But this time was different. Sure, Jason needed saving. He just didn't want it.

"Well, I'm glad you feel that way, Dickie. Now if you'll excuse me, I was right about to _make_ things okay, and it'd be nice if you weren't here for that."

"Jay…" It was then that Jason felt the lightest touch of fingers resting against his shoulder blades. He was so on-edge that within seconds he'd spun around and grabbed hold of both of Dick's wrists. His grip tightened as he stepped down from the ledge and glared at his brother, realizing then that Dick had taken his mask off, leaving his bright blue eyes out in the open as a distraction. Not fair.

He pushed forward. "I couldn't even have this," Jason growled, voice growing louder. He was looking directly at Dick, but he wasn't really talking to him, addressing his shouting more towards the universe as a whole. "I couldn't even have this one last thing, couldn't do one good thing to make up for all of the bad. I've tried. I've _tried_ having a purpose, doing what I believe is right, but in the end, I can't even _kill _myself the way I want to."

"Oh shut up." Jason grimaced at that. Dick winced as his hold on his wrists became painfully tight. He continued talking anyway. "C'mon, Jaybird, since when do you let things control you so much? Never. You've always been a rebel, always been the one to break away from the fine print and write your own contract. Who cares about what Bruce thinks of you? Who cares about what Tim or Damian or Gordon think of you? Hell, who cares about what _I_ think of you? I do, but what I _also_ know is that _you_ never have."

"You're missing the point, asshat."

"No, I really don't think that I am," he said, standing up a little straighter. "No one gives a rat's ass as to whether or not you genuinely like them, and you don't give a rat's ass as to whether or not they genuinely like you. But Jesus Christ, Jason. Do you know how much they _love_ you? How much Bruce loves you? And Damian and Tim? We all love you, Jason, and if you do what you're about to do right here and now, than we will never forgive you."

"You fucking selfish son of a bitch!" Jason released Dick's wrists before punching him square in the face. Dick fell to the ground, holding his nose as Jason seethed with anger, scowling down at him, hands balled into fists. "_You_ will never forgive _me_? What the hell, Dick? Do you not understand that, that's the whole reason why I'm here in the first place? No one has _ever_ forgiven me. My entire life is made up of guilt and regret and you think that you can just sit there and tell me that the only people who have ever _meant_ something to me at one point in my life would hold it against me for killing _myself_? Go to hell!"

Dick looked up at him, wiping the blood underneath his nose with the back of his hand. "We wouldn't hold it against you, smartass! We would blame you because it would _hurt_ too much to blame ourselves!"

Simultaneously, their expressions softened. Jason unclenched his hands as he observed Dick's face. His lips were pursed, blue eyes accented by red capillaries that had suddenly become more noticeable from the sudden release of emotions. He stared up at Jason through the start of a few tears, trying so hard to stay strong.

It was weird because now Jason had a strong urge to comfort _him_. To wrap his arms around him and run his fingers through his too-long, thick, messy black hair. To tell him that everything was…going to be…_okay_. Fuck.

Jason rubbed the back of his neck. "Dick…listen…"

"No, Jason," he stated with all the force of before, "_You_ listen. You have caused everyone in this family so much _pain_ with your careless and stubborn actions. But have you ever taken the time to think about _why_ that is? _Why_ this causes us all such hurt? It's because we _care_, Jason. Because we fucking _care_. So from that you could only assume that if you committed _suicide_, for Christ's sake, you would cause us even more pain because then we wouldn't have anyone left to care _about_. Each and every one of us would blame ourselves for pushing you away, and since that would hurt way too much, we'd all blame you for _running_ away in the end.

"So fine, call me a selfish son of a bitch. But the only reason why I do the things that I do is because I _do_ care, Jason. Because I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you _again_. Because you don't _deserve_ that." His breath was shaky as he finished with, "No one deserves to endure what you've gone through."

Sometimes Dick could be a real pain in the ass. Well, not just sometimes. Most of the time. Except for now.

After a time of silence only filled with the city's ambience and the ragged sound of each other's breathing, Jason offered Dick a hand up. And he took it. And they stood there for the longest time, looking at each other, hands still linked together. And then Jason did something that he will deny until the very end of time itself; he smiled at Dick. It was a small, uneasy smile, but it was still a smile, and it was pointed in his brother's direction. An unspoken thank you.

But instead of smiling back, Dick yanked Jason's arm and pulled him in for a hug, draping his arms around the taller man's neck. And instead of shoving him away as he would on most occasions, Jason figured that he could make an exception for the man who sort of maybe just saved his ass. So he hugged him back, wrapping his arms around Dick's waist.

Dick's face was buried in the crook of Jason's neck as his muffled voice was heard. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, Jay. Do you hear me? Don't you ever do that again."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Christ, you're a sap."

Dick gave a slight chuckle. "But you love me anyway."

"Sure," said Jason, "but that doesn't mean I have to like you."


End file.
